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The Gray Dynasty: Victor Strade


Current Deployment: Venus
Current Time: 14:26, Earth Standard Time, 2207.


Victor was already busying himself with organising several files located on one of the digital desks around the briefing room as Reika walked in and introduced herself. Without looking much in her direction, and instead focusing on scrolling through a particular folder, he responded: “Wight. Like the color,” and finished up his work before turning the chair to finally face her. He hadn’t previously worked with a non military pilot; in fact, his rank never needed him to talk to his crew in general, which is exactly why he had asked for the woman and other members personal files. She seemed capable enough, and he knew better than to judge someone before any blatant mistakes. Nevertheless, Victor knew it would take a while to adjust his cold, curt attitude to better suit the new conditions he was working in.

“Victor Strade. I was just looking over what files they’ve left.” he scowled, not particularly at her, but more so out of habit. “We’re just waiting for our navigator and doctor it seems, the engineer is already gushing over the equipment they’ve got for us. Place is a lot bigger than you’d think. Judging by what they’ve given me about your past that shouldn’t be an issue for you though.”

Just as the duo were engaged in conversation, in walked a weathered old man that Victor could only assume was Finn Olsen before having his suspicions confirmed by the mans introduction. Finn was a bit more of a peculiar sight, if he remembered correctly the man wasn't any older then himself but easily looked twice it. “Victor Strade. We were just getting over our introductions.” he explained.

“I gave my copy of the layout to the engineer, she should be with us before we get briefed. It’s rather roomy however, so we don’t have to worry about privacy. I hope you both enjoyed your trip here more than I did, I’m not used to public airport customs.” Victor continued, by now he was stood in front of the circular table that was positioned in the middle of the briefing room.


Another one of Benny's players here! Great DM, and allows a lot of creative input from the players, definitely signing up and looking forward for this. <3


Heya, Stiches' friend here, finally managed to sort out my CS. Have a read and lemme know if anything needs changing =)



The phone kept ringing for a solid 3 minutes before Brooks’ attention was shifted towards the mysterious and persistent caller just into his night shift. Three minutes is a long time when you're sat alone in a small office in the dark. He continued to glare at it, irritation turning to disbelief as the ringing persisted. It was only a matter of time before every ring, and appropriately timed pause of silence before the next one, caused him to physically flinch from frustration. It was the Sheriff's -personal- phone, and the last thing he wanted to do was butt into the guy's private affairs. Was it an emergency? Did something happen to the sheriff and his own number was the only thing he had time to call?

Brooks, being the irritable man that he was, could only stand it for so long. He stood up in a seething fit of annoyance and stomped his way angrily towards the device, picking it up with equal harshness and almost barking down the other end.

“Sheriff Cart-” was all he'd manage to get out before being interrupted by a deep voice from the other end.

“Missing? Look we got an actual police line for this, if it's the sheriff you're lookin’ for he's not in till tomorrow.”
Brooks stood in the dark and in silence as the muffled noise of the callers voice filled the sheriff's office room, replying to him.

“Right. Ahuh. Okay. Can I have your name please? Thank you. I'll be there in thirty, please wait patiently.”
He shut the phone back in its place, sighed audibly and left the sheriff's office, closing the door behind him and snatching his jacket off the hanger by the door. He had strict orders not to do this exact thing but he was feeling defiant, and just didn't care enough about consequences for something potentially interesting to happen, it -had- been a while.

Just as Brooks was about to leave the door his line started ringing, with furrowed brows he approached it cautiously before lifting it up to his ear.

“Hello? Deputy Lockwood speaking.” He paused, listening carefully.

“Oh hey sweetheart. Everything alright?” He eased up, glad it was just Abigail instead of another surprise.

“Oh dear… alright we'll talk about it tomorrow morning if you're heading to sleep. And check behind the mirror In my bath we got a small kit there you can use.”

“Yeah, sorry sweetie. I won't be home for a few more hours. Same old same old.” he put the phone down as soon as Abigail ended her call.

The car ride towards the hotel was filled with curiosity, his mind racing ahead of itself before reeling back into reality, and assuming the outcome to be as realistic as possible. Even with the “ban” on the hotel and the seemingly calm and collected voice of caller, this was Kansas. He had gotten used to mundane issues.

With another deep sigh Brooks exited his patrol car, slamming his door shut and approaching and entering the front door of the suddenly suspicious looking hotel.
Brooks shot a deathly glare at the radio, its static adding insult to injury as the sheriff made fun of his plight. He could hear the sheriff's booming hyena cackle through the device, adding a tinge of annoyance to the whole situation that was eventually enhanced by the star-badged man's hysteria. He shifted his gaze up at the ceiling, almost rolling his eyes back in his head, remaining painfully silent as the sheriff's laughter dragged on and on.

“But in all seriousness, just wanted to let ya know I am goin to be callin it an early night. A big city cop like you should be able to handle things here alone, right?”

Just to humour the sheriff he picked the radio up and replied, keeping it short and sweet: “Sure thing, sheriff.”

‘Big city cop’ he thought. He could put up with the sheriff's attitude, gruelling tasks and public humiliations. He was his superior and brooks learnt to deal with horrible bosses years ago. It was that specific string of words that just got him every time though. It reminded him of when he felt like in the right place, doing the right things. Now it made him feel washed out, downgraded. But it didn't matter, he moved here for reasons. Life goes on.

He sighed, going back to paperwork about those missing pets, just to have something to kill the upcoming lonesome shift.
Hey there, [@Stiches]'s friend here. I know the GM saw bits of my CS and asked if swapping to deputy is fine and it absolutly is, here's my CS to look over. Please let me know if you need any further alterations =)

P.S. couldn't figure out how to spoiler tag the whole thing.



Brooks Lockwood




"We all make mistakes. I’ve made plenty of them. But nothing that ever cost me my freedom."



| {Full Name} |
Brooks Lockwood


| {Nickname} |
Brooksy


| {Age} |
47


| {Gender} |
Male


| {Sexuality} |
Hetero


| {Appearance} |
Brooks is a tall, stocky, hairy man with the physique of someone who gained muscle without trying to show off. He has dark hair which he combs back, thick eyebrows, dark eyes and a prominent mustache. More often than not, Brooks has faint stubble around his jawline. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked and the lines on his face appear to be from decades of frowning. His hands are calloused and his nails kept short - he wears no wedding ring yet the pale tan line of a ring is still barely visible. He has no piercings and no tattoos, but he does have a few scars on his left shoulder, abdomen and knuckles.


| {Clothing Style} |
When he isn’t wearing his uniform, Brooks has a penchant for freshly ironed shirts and faded jeans topped with his old leather jackets. He doesn’t own many clothes, but the ones that he does own are well-kept. The most expensive part of his wardrobe is his shoes - he owns three pairs. One brown pair, one black pair, and a pair of boots for wandering in the woods. They’re built to last and kept as clean as possible. He wears very few accessories, save for a wrist-watch and, sometimes, a thin gold chain under his shirt.


| {Likes} |
Scotch - he’ll settle for whiskey if there isn’t any
Decent cigars
His car
The strongest coffee he can find in Brimstone
Jazz music


| {Dislikes} |
New technology
Children
Hippies
Most of the latest trends
Paperwork


| {Fears} |
Alligators
Not being in control of a situation


| {Personality} |
Brooks is a hardened life veteran with very little patience for stupidity. He has a sharp tongue and a short temper, often wary of strangers with little regard to social etiquette or manners. Whilst he is unafraid of conflict, Brooks’ aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism and tends to show very little visible emotion aside from general annoyance. He operates under his own strict set of morals though, quick to be disapproving or to congratulate people for doing what he saw as ‘the right thing’. Brooks wouldn’t describe himself as the most intellectual person but he has a lot of wisdom to dispense if needed.


| {History} |
There’s not much to note about Brooks’ past. Born and raised in New Orleans, he was practically destined to join law-enforcement and follow in the footsteps of mediocrely decorated soldiers and officers alike. Life was simple; he had a job to do and that’s exactly what he did, slowly working his way up through the ranks to become a prominent member of the police force but never quite managing to get promoted to chief.

That was until his sister reached out to him when she found herself in what seemed to be an inescapable time in prison. He got the call late one November evening and agreed to meet her out of the little remaining love he possessed for her. Upon confronting her she asked him something completely unexpected; whereas Brooks thought she’d beg for bail, she instead pleaded that he take her daughter to look after. It took a lot of time and consideration for him to eventually wholeheartedly agree; his agreement was the catalyst that set in motion his pre-retirement plans of leaving the busy city police force in favour for a more easygoing position somewhere out in a quiet town in middle America. With age catching up to him and his worries for the young Abigail's unhealthy past within the city, he believed it’d be best for the both of them to leave the place behind. After dealing with the paperwork and leaving his precinct with a suitable replacement the two made the move.

It had been two years since the duo settled into Brimstone. Crime was non-existent and yet he’d still receive a full-time salary, so it was the obvious choice for him; Abigail had no say in the matter. He made the transition from high-speed chases and tense hostage situations to quiet days in the office and speeding tickets with little resistance whereas his home life was another issue entirely. He wasn’t used to being a guardian and it wasn’t as if the kid was making things easy. They eventually sorted out their differences though, and life went on.


| {Other} |
N/A

Royce/Summer - Sandy Coves Inn / Salem Clinic


Royce waited for the designated woman to collect the requested supplies before idly following her out of the inn and towards the clinic. The woman introduced herself as Frieda, to which he replied with a simple “Royce”.

Summer propped herself up on one elbow to watch the Doctor rant about the greed of the wastelanders. “Oh...a vault-dweller,” she murmured with intrigue. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for Arthur as he dismissed Steve and went back to tending Summer’s injuries. “Your heart’s in the right place but I’m afraid the Commonwealth’s gonna fix that soon enough,” she rasped. Her gaze was unfocused and she seemed quite interested in twitching her fingers, focusing intently on them instead of the fussing that Arthur was doing to keep her comfortable. “Nevertheless, you at least have the common sense not to accept chems from someone who you don’t know. I think you’ll go far in life - at least, in your life on the surface.” She was rambling, most of it was conversational and coherent but she still slurred her speech from time to time. Summer fell silent after that, aside from the odd question of whether or not ‘The Big Guy’ was going to come back with the supplies.

Both Royce and Frieda entered the Clinic. Frieda began to eagerly converse with the Doctor, eventually moving towards the back of the church, Royce himself didn’t interfere with their conversation and instead averted his attention to the now lonesome woman resting on the makeshift bedding. He approached the woman asking: “Are you dying?” inquiring about how she was feeling.

Summer tilted her head to the side and stared Royce down. “Feels like it - but I’ll live,” she groaned wearily. “They’re mostly surface wounds and the ones that matter have been dealt with, I’m just-...trying to remain conscious until I know I’m not going to die of an infection in my sleep. You brought the antiseptic, right?”

“Yes. The doctor is discussing payment right now.” Royce paused, shooting a brief glance around the empty first floor and then over summer. “The five men outside Salem are your doing?” he wondered, by now kneeling beside her as they carried on their conversation.

Summer sighed, nodding. “Four, technically. Looted me for everything I had then left me for dead. Typical…” she spoke of it with such nonchalance that it felt like she was talking about a chipped nail instead of a serial killing. Then again, that might have been due to the sorry state she was in; it didn’t look like Summer was thinking straight anymore. “The worst part, the worst part….” she hummed thoughtfully, “is that research. My kit. All the shit I was working on earlier and they took it. Motherfuckers don’t even know how to read.” Whatever it was that Summer had lost irritated her to the point of reinvigoration. She practically snarled the last sentence and clenched her fists. Then she stared at Royce thoughtfully. “Wanna make some caps?”

Royce listened silently, the mention of research barely piquing his interest. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to technology of any form, let alone scientific research. After the brief pause the woman took to gather her bearings, and the mention of caps, it was more the sense of purpose that her offer entailed which interested him. With his lips still pursed, Royce eventually spoke: “You have no caps, you were robbed.”

Summer grinned mischievously. “I said I was robbed - I didn’t say WHAT they took. That being said, I can’t offer up much...just the opportunity to bash some skulls in and also dig into whatever else those chemheads have hoarded over the past few weeks. After all, it’s not as if I’m going to be in there demanding my share of the loot.” she gestured down to herself folornly, seeming much more awake than earlier. In fact, she even lifted herself up a little to lower her voice with the severity of someone who’s been double-crossed many times before. “But I want my fucking research. As much of it as possible. Big green dufflebag, full of machinery and notes. Bring that back to me and you can keep whatever else you find in there, but if I don’t get that fucking bag then don’t bother coming back at all.”

Royce could feel her anger and frustration seeping into her words. He replied, almost too eagerly: “Very well. I will find your research and bring it back.”

Summer smiled - all of that energy went into relief and she sank back onto her back again, shutting her eyes. “One more thing,” she spoke but it was barely more than a whisper. “Before you go, make sure those wounds are disinfected for me, will you? It doesn’t help to...to have an employer be dead before…” her voice trailed off meekly as she went limp, falling unconscious at long last.
@SkrtWithAWeapon
Added a very small post, just to keep the scene at the inn running smoothly.
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